A Thing (or Two) About the Rosenblooms
by Squeak Squeakity
Summary: Life simply throws way too many lemons at Amy. She has gone from rich, to becoming the maid of an apple farm; from part of a family, to a homeless orphan. Then part of a family again, and later on beginning to get too close to Detective Ian Rosenbloom, son of the farm owners, who thinks her father is the bad guy. And that's just the beginning of many other problems to come.


Life will always give you lemons. But sometimes, it will throw them at you. Hard. However, it's up to you to sit there, wailing about the bruises left... or to actually make lemonade.

That's what Amy Cahill had to learn a while back. And I, Jonah Wizard, will take the form of your narrator to tell you exactly how she did it.

Shall I begin?

* * *

Amy slid the Gucci sunglasses down her head to cover her green eyes. She first glanced at one side, and then to the other, in a discreet manner that would ensure that no eyes were on her. She stepped on her Christian Louboutin black leather pumps out of her hiding spot, and covering her model-like face with her reddish-brown hair, tried to walk nonchalantly to the end of the back wall. Amy suddenly stopped on her heels, taking in the blonde leaning on the wall in front of her.

That was Cheyenne Wyoming. The twenty-six-year-old was known for having created an empire of fake designer bags, clothes, accessories, and what-not. Why a girl clad in a limited edition Alexander Wang knee-lenght, striped sweater dress and Swarovsky diamond stretch bracelet was approaching such a person will be explained later on, readers. Right now, let me enlighten you on why Amy was so shocked at the sight.

Cheyenne was wearing the same sweater dress as her. More specifically, a knock-off.

Cheyenne handed Amy a malicious smile. "Loving the dress, Ames."

Amy stood up straighter. "Of course, mine doesn't reek of fake."

"Please don't tell me you'll begin spraying your Juicy Couture perfume around," Cheyenne moaned in displeasure.

"Puh-lease. The only idiot around here who does that is that B-lister, Sinead Starling," Amy snapped, rolling her eyes. "I'm begging you to not confuse me with the likes of her."

"Would the 'likes of her' be buying fake tickets for a sold-out vintage clothes auction?" Cheyenne taunted, holding up a single ticket and triumphantly waving it in the air.

"Gimme that," Amy barked, snatching the ticket away. She glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed such a horrifying scene. However, the only ones around were her two friends, Natalie Wizard and Madeleine Trent, looking rich and fabulous as they maintained guard. She pursed her lips, getting out her quilted Chanel wallet and retrieving seven Benjamin Franklins. "The extra fifty is for you to keep your big mouth from blabbering to your buddies about my shopping spree."

"Pinky promise," Cheyenne answered, in a high pitched tone that resembled Sinead's annoying friend, Reagan.

"Does Reagan Reed enjoy browsing through your store?" Amy asked, inspecting the ticket in her hands. They were auctioning off a pair of Grace Kelly's shoes, and she simply had to add those to her priced vintage shoes collections. Plus, she already had a whole outfit planned out in her special edition mannequin back in her room.

"How much are you offering for information on Starling's Trio?" Cheyenne asked, crossing her arms in an I-want-a-good-offer way.

Wordlessly, Amy got out another one-hundred-dollar bill and gingerly handed it to Cheyenne.

"I can bring you records of every shop they've made in the past year," Cheyenne informed her. "Which I guess would be really helpful, since you two are running against each other for the position of becoming the image of Merrick University. Millionaire parents wouldn't want to enroll their spoiled children in a university whose image is a girl that invests on fakes."

"Don't think I'll be using this as my strategy. My face is the strategy," Amy corrected Cheyenne, hissing her words. "I'll only use this as a last resort. Just in case my advantage isn't more than one hundred votes."

Cheyenne chuckled. "Alrighty, missy. Where shall we meet for the records?"

"I don't want to be seen with you at a five-star restaurant, but I don't want to see you in a McDonald's either," Amy said, sighing in a matter that indicated she did not want to be around the back of the mall anymore.

"There's this new salad bistro downtown," Cheyenne informed, stuffing her money in a compartment of her fake Louis Voutton bag. "Lettuce Paradise. It isn't Burger King-like, but I don't see rich girls around there. I'll meet you there at three?"

"I'll meet you there at five," Amy told her. "I've got class before and-"

"You've gotta keep your number one spot in the honor roll, I know that," Cheyenne said.

"Anyways," Amy drawled, getting out three more one-hundred-dollar bills. "This is for you to keep your mouth from talking about our deal. If I hear someone mentioning your name and mine in the same sentence, I'll make sure Daddy destroys you. And I'm not talking about heading to the police, I'm talking about making you leave the country in fear."

"I don't think I'll ever mess with you. Your dad is the Arthur Cahill, after all, second-"

"_First._"

"-richest man in the world," Cheyenne finished. She smiled. "Nice doing business with you. I like your haughtiness. I've gotta go-"

"Nu-uh, I'm the one with the last word, not you," Amy cut in. She stood up straighter, preparing her leave. "I'll see you at five. _Don't _be late."

And with that, the twenty-one-year-old turned on her heel and strutted down the vacant pavements.

Let me cut in for a while and describe Amy to you. She's not just pretty. In fact, with her heart-shaped face, the bow-shaped lips, that cute button nose, her innocent-looking green eyes, her petite and slender figure, and her beautiful, glossy hair that reached just above the small of her back, 'pretty' was just an understatement.

And 'rich' was also an understatement.

Her father was the owner of several lands. Take note: not just lands from the nation, but from all around the world. And those lands are used by several money-making companies, and most by government matters. To add to his millions of bucks was his fourth marriage to Isabel Hollingsworth, the heiress of an English enterprise, who had now been married to him for five years. These factors, and many others, might lead you to believe that Amy is a spoiled daddy's girl. And you're right. However, I think it's worth mentioning her perseverance and hard work... at both excelling in her notes, and making sure her popularity spot is number one. She didn't get into Merrick University, the best law school in the entire world, because of nothing. And now, she's not just the number one student, but the soon-to-become image of the university. Meaning, whenever you see an ad for Merrick, you'll see the twenty-one-year-old's plastered all over it.

"How did it go?" Natalie asked, her amber eyes gazing at Amy in concern.

"I got it," Amy replied, patting he Tory Burch bag. "Let's forget the matter for now. I've got some shopping to do."

"By the way, guess whom I spotted earlier," Madeleine cooed, toned arm slung around Amy's shoulder.

"If it's not an A-lister, a B-lister at the least, then don't waste your breath," Amy murmured, making sure her recently-manicured nails hadn't been chipped by the air contaminated of knock-off germs.

"More than an A-lister, 'cause his name is Evan Tolliver," Madeleine sing-songed, smiling triumphantly.

Amy gasped, stopping in her tracks. "Oh my God... when? Where? How?"

"I spotted his Mercedes Benz SLR McLaren-"

Amy grinned, shaking her head. "Okay, speak English please."

"I spotted his _car_ in the parking lot. It took seconds to see him walking through the doors," Nellie continued, running a hand through her sleek ponytail. "It was around... what, fifteen minutes ago?"

"Do I look like I stepped out from a department store, or from the cover of a magazine?" Amy asked her friends, sucking in an excited breath. Evan had been her crush ever since she began college, and she was still waiting for him to muster up courage to ask her out.

Truth be told, he didn't even throw one glance at her. But she wouldn't accept that.

Natalie was already smiling from ear to ear. "Our Amy is too gorgeous to fall into either category."

"Look who's talking," Amy commented, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Please, have you not seen Madeleine?" Natalie replied.

"I think I saw her in the cover of Vogue," Amy replied.

The friends blurted into rounds of giggle.

"I declare you the winner," Madeleine replied.

Readers, you've been witnesses of Amy's and her friends' legendary game, Snap a Compliment, in which whomever replied with the best compliment won. They usually did this whenever a 'cute' guy was in their area.

As soon as they stepped inside the mall, all teenage and young adult eyes turned to look at them: admiration, jealousy, and amusement were the top three gazes. The trio didn't care. They were born for the spotlight, after all.

It was a matter of seconds for them to spot a flash of red hair.

"Do you smell sewage?" Madeleine asked, sniffing the air.

"More like wannabe," Natalie added, waving her hand in front of her slightly turn-up nose, disgust clearly distorting her pretty face.

"Actually, it reeks of Starling," Amy corrected, pinching her nose to keep the 'smell' away.

"Ha ha, so funny," Sinead drawled, narrowing her blue-green eyes in a glare. She flipped her wavy red hair behind her shoulder, sticking up her nose in authority. "Too bad people don't like you because of your sense of humor, but because of your money."

"Thank you, I like to be reminded how much richer I am from you," Amy replied. "But it's a given fact, since your dad is a sheriff."

Sinead's friends, Reagan and Madison, also known as the Burberry Twins (a.k.a., the Barf Twins to Amy and her friends), glared at them.

"He's not a sheriff. He is the police commissioner of the PPD: Philadelphia Police Department, in case you don't know. Plus, he is considered the highest paid employee of the state. Unlike your dad, he does have a real job and that's why he's always around the police offices," Sinead snapped.

"The only real job here is your nose," Amy quipped.

Natalie and Madeleine snickered.

"She's too cheap to be considered surgery, Amy," Natalie consoled, patting her friend's shoulder.

Reagan huffed. "Please, you guys are the only thing belonging to Walmart here."

Madeleine stared blankly at the tall girls in front of her. "Let me give you two a tip: before you go around waving 'insults' in the air, learn how to do so in the first place."

Madison scowled, turning to look away.

"Oh, please, ladies, don't get hurt. They just feel wounded because Evan is on a date with Klara Louise," Sinead said, smirking triumphantly.

It was then Amy heard an annoying, nasal giggle coming from behind Sinead's table. Her eyes just had to shift upwards for her to see Evan's handsome face, smiling at the Gemma Ward knock-off, Klara. Amy's heart went plummeting to the ground.

She heard Natalie gasping next to her.

Amy wanted to dump the Madison's shake on Sinead in anger, and then claw Klara's cheap extensions out with her bare hands. But she was Amy Cahill, not Sinead or any other loser. Instead, she simply raised an eyebrow.

"Too bad he has and will never look at your way," Sinead continued nonchalantly, inspecting her cuticles.

"Once you're done checking your dirty nails, how about you face reality? I think he's cute, but I never would've wished he asked me out. My standards are not low as to like a guy with poop-brown hair and a lanky figure," Amy huffed, crossing the arms to keep her hurt from showing in her face. "In fact, Klara is too good for him."

Sinead smiled. "Whatever you say, Cahill."

* * *

"What do you mean? How can a debt be so over-priced?" Arthur demanded through his phone. He placed the fingers on the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself. "Erasmus, how much do we owe?"

Through the other line of the phone, Mr. Cahill's confidant and long-time assistant, Erasmus Yilmaz, sighed shakily. Arthur could already picture his grey eyes filled up with worry and stress. "It's bad, Arthur. Very bad."

"How could this even _begin_ to happen?" Arthur mourned, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. His vast office was sweating with the tension of a large and unexpected debt that had just been increasing for the past weeks.

"It's them, I just know it's them," Erasmus accused, his voice shaking with anger. "They want to destroy us ever since the Oh scandal! They knew that if we didn't have it our way, they would be finished."

"Instead, we are the ones destroyed," Arthur grimly finished, shutting his green eyes close. "Any options?"

The other line remained silent.

"I know you didn't answer because you want me to help them out again, right? Well, we're already too involved in this. I don't want to be arrested, and I'm betting you don't want to, either," Arthur continued, his knee bobbing up and down rapidly. It was a tick he'd acquired from his grandfather, and it always appeared whenever he was nervous.

"Arthur, we _need_ to," Erasmus pleaded. "Please, just pick up their calls."

"We're already too knee-deep. What begun as a small help turned out into... this!" Arthur exclaimed.

"You know what the only solution is, and that's to give them a call. That land is the only way out."

"Erasmus, you don't seem to understand. I heard the police are forming a profile of us!" Arthur clarified, wanting to punch a whole through his expensive, glass-covered mahogany desk. He gazed at a picture of Isabel, Amy, and his daughter's deceased mother. "This could endanger Amy's position. If word gets out..."

"It won't if you use the land issue. It's the only way out," Erasmus said.

Someone knocked his open door. Arthur turned to look up, to find his wife smiling up at him.

"Isabel!" Arthur announced. He held up one finger, signaling her to wait for a second, before resuming his conversation on the phone. "We'll speak later about this."

After hanging up, he plastered his most truthful smile on for his wife. "How was Maui?"

"Wonderful!" Isabel exclaimed, clearly delighted as she swung two shopping bags in front of her. She placed one on the desk. "I thought that you needed a new watch."

Arthur smiled. He stuffed his hand inside and got out a gold Rolex. "Wow, you really outdid yourself this time."

Isabel grinned, giggling. She plopped on the cushioned seat across Arthur's desk. "Hopefully it will melt away the heated stress you're in."

Arthur's smile faltered. He adjusted his glasses, biting down his tongue.

"I could hear your knee bobbing up and down from the moment I walked into the house," Isabel explained. She smiled, slapping a pamphlet on the desk's surface. "I heard of this wonderful spa resort in the Bahamas that could help you out. I was planning to take flight in a few days-"

"But you've just returned!"

"Which is why I want you to come along," Isabel offered. "What do you say? Doesn't a day receiving massages from the best of the best sound tempting?"

"I must admit it does," Arthur confessed. He'd been swimming in a pool of trouble lately, and a day near the seaside with his beautiful wife next to him seemed more than refreshing. But how would he concentrate when his mind was flooded with dilemma? He had a big debt to settle, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to relax his shoulders in more than a month. And let's not get him started with the police business.

"Think about it. I'll be leaving for a brand new salad bistro someone mentioned downtown. I'll make sure to bring you something," Isabel told him, stuffing the other bag on her purse. "I'll see you later, sweetie."

Isabel stood up, her amber eyes gleaming with happiness. Arthur guessed she'd really enjoyed herself in Maui. Her smile seemed brighter, and her coffee-colored skin seemed to glow. She looked more gorgeous than she had when she was walking down the airport to catch her flight three weeks ago.

Once she'd left, his gaze shifted toward the glossy pamphlets laid out in front of him. His eyes wandered over to the picture of his daughter. In the portrait, she was wearing her high school graduation gown, looking much like her mother, Sofia. He smiled at Sofia's picture. She'd died when Amy had just turned three, but he was sure she would've been more than proud of their daughter. He gazed down at his intertwined fingers, giving his situation much needed thought.

* * *

"Mr. Starling, you called for me?" Ian Rosenbloom asked, stopping in front the door of the police commissioner's large office. Wherever he looked, many honors and awards were hung or placed around. But that was not the reason why the twenty-five-year-old detective admired his superior so much. It was because he was a respectful, honest, and hard-working man. Ian could only aspire to become such a man.

"Yes, I wanted to see the profile you've got on Arthur Cahill. You brought it along?" Mr. Starling asked, gazing up at his employee in expectancy.

Ian bowed his head, holding up a manila folder. "May I come in?"

Mr. Starling burst out in a hearty laugh. "Of course, Det. Rosenbloom! See, that's why I like you. You're the only respectful boy around here, and you're younger than most!"

Ian smiled, proud of the compliment, as he stepped inside. It smelled like polished wood. Ian stood in front of Mr. Starling's desk, placing the file on top of it.

Mr. Starling opened it, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he read through the files. "According to the report, Mr. Cahill, with the help of Vikram Kabra have been selling lands for higher prices than they should, bribing companies with lands, even threatening some, and also stealing. Are you guys sure that Vikram is a solid suspect? He's the president of Philadephia's newspaper offices. How can he be involved in such a thing?"

"He has always been friends with Arthur, sir. Additionally, investigators have found evidence that he is the connection between the victims and Mr. Cahill. He has also taken advantage of the bribery situation, and has used some stolen lands to threaten," Ian explained.

"Understood," Mr. Starling sighed, shaking his head. "And here I was, thinking that Arthur was a honorable man. I actually got to meet him a year ago. He seemed like such a charming person, and so did his daughter and wife. Well, good job, detective."

Ian nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"I also hear you're going to be making your fiftieth arrest this afternoon in Lettuce Paradise?" Mr. Starling tried to confirm, clearly impressed by Ian's deeds.

"That's right. You might've heard of Cheyenne Wyoming? We arrested her co-workers at her warehouse a while back. One of them let it slip where she was meeting, and Det. Hamilton Holt and I will go down there in a few minutes to arrest her. Nobody might know how she looks like, but we also managed to figure out what she was wearing."

"That'll certainly make the job easier for you," Mr. Starling exclaimed, laughing.

Ian grinned, nodding. "Yes, sir."

"Well, I don't want to keep you from doing your job. Go ahead, son, and show the entire state how we do our job!" Mr. Starling continued, his voice as energetic as it could get. "Also, once you're done processing the suspect, please drop by my office again. The FBI is certain they would do well with you on their team."

Ian's eyes widened, never having expected such a suggestion.

"I'll see you later," Mr. Starling told him, smiling.

Ian quickly regained back from his shock, and nodded. "Of course. I'll be going."

After bowing his head good-bye, Ian quickly left the office. Hamilton, his cousin, neighbor, friend, and partner, was leaning against the hallway's wall, smiling at the young boy.

"So?" Hamilton asked, jumping up to his feet.

Ian began to make his way out of the building. "He said he's impressed by the file."

Hamilton nodded. "That was predictable. But by that cheerful look on his face, he said something else. What is it, buddy?"

Ian couldn't contain the smile on his face.

Hamilton lightly punched Ian's shoulder. "Come on, you can tell me! I tell you everything, so that's the least you can do."

Ian shrugged, looking down at his feet. "He mentioned something about the FBI wanting to recruit me."

Hamilton's blue eyed widened. The hunky boy began to clap at his friend, laughing out loud. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Those news aren't so hard to communicate... but then again, you're Ian Rosenbloom, Mr. Humble-Righteousness-Silence. Your biological parents must've been very good people."

Ian nodded. "Hopefully."

When he was just four, his parents had died in a car accident, sending him right to the orphanage. Luckily, he didn't even spend a month there before Mark and Hope Rosenbloom came by to pick him up. Ever since, he'd been living in the outskirts of Philadelphia, in a beautiful apple farm with an extremely good family, consisting of an older brother, Dan, a younger one, Jake, another adopted girl, Nellie, who was already married and expecting her first child, his parents, and Aunt Beatrice. He had never suffered. But even so, his biological parents were a touchy subject. Only Hamilton could bring it up, and that's because he only had compliments to say about them, not questions or arguments.

Ian hopped on his black car, Hamilton following suit.

"Lettuce Paradise is still our destination?" Ian asked.

"Yup, Cheyenne's supposed to be there wearing a striped sweater dress," Hamilton explained.

Ian nodded. "Got it."

They decided to avoid the sirens, since they didn't want to scare Cheyenne out. After an amount of minutes, they were pulling up in front of a green-and-white small building. 'Lettuce Paradise' in yellow was placed in front of a lettuce leaf, forming the sign of the restaurant.

"It's very popular, huh?" Hamilton commented, gazing at the many cars parked in front.

"Looks like it," Ian said. He unclipped his safety belt. "I'll check the outside."

"Good, I'll check the inside. Our back-up is there, too, by the way," Hamilton explained, opening the car's door. "Should I send someone to check the outside with you?"

Ian shook his head. "I don't think I need it. You just worry about keeping the civilians out of any danger, and finding Cheyenne."

Hamilton nodded. "Got it. Good luck, bro."

"You too," Ian replied, closing his car's door.

Soon, he was on the back of the restaurant, gazing around. All he could see were boxes and trash cans. Until he spotted the black-and-white striped sweater dress. It was Cheyenne. Her back was facing him, so all he could see was her reddish-brown hair. With two steps, he was already behind her.

Gripping her shoulder, he turned her around. Scared green eyes were looking up at him, surprised.

She gasped. "What-"

"Cheyenne Wyoming, you're under arrest."

* * *

**Merrick University is fake, just in case you were wondering. And yes, this is completely AU. I know this is really long, and sort of boring, since it's just introductions. However, I'm hoping that from next chapter and onwards things will change. If you guys think it's too long, feel free to tell me! Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed =)**


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